To explain the appearance of Rob at the Fourth of July celebration in
Gainsboro, we shall have to go back to his meeting with the masked men
on the summit of “Flying Jump,” where we left him just as he had flung
aside two of his assailants to be fired on by others in concealment.
Knowing from the sounds that two or three were coming to the assistance
of the two men he had for the moment baffled in their attack, Little
Hickory felt that his only way of escape lay in flight.
Thus he quickly sprang into the saddle of his bicycle, and just as
the men in front recovered enough to renew their assault and those
in the bushes burst into sight, he started down the steep grade at a
tremendous velocity.
“Hi, there! hold up or we will shoot ye!” cried the leader of the party.
But nothing was farther from the purpose of Little Hickory, even had
it been possible for him to check his headlong flight at this juncture
without deadly peril to himself.
The road was strewn with loose rocks and rent with deep gullies at
places, but despite the awful peril constantly menacing his progress,
he kept on down “Flying Jump” at a rate of speed in keeping with its
name.
Two of his enemies sent shots after him, but they flew over his head
harmlessly, and the entire party stood as if riveted to their tracks,
while they watched the flight of their intended victim, expecting every
moment to see him flung head first upon the rocks, where he would be an
easy prey to them.
But Little Hickory had too clear a head and too steady a nerve to fall
in any such manner. It is true, he was not an experienced bicyclist,
but what he lacked in experience he more than made up in fearless
foresight and swiftness of action. Never for an instant “losing his
head,” he guided the wheel down the descent, around loose stones and
bowlders, along the very rim of gullies, down, faster and faster, until
he fairly flew into the valley, and carried on by the fearful momentum
he had gained, sped up the ascent on the opposite side.
By that time the amazed men awakened to the fact that their bird was
fast leaving them, and with oaths of madness they rushed down the hill
in pursuit.
It would be of no avail to fire shots now, as Little Hickory was beyond
the range of their weapons.
By the time they had gained the foot of “Flying Jump” he was out of
sight, having nearly gained the summit on the east, carried up half
the rise on his bicycle, when he sprang lightly to the ground and
continued his flight on foot.
“Curse him!” cried the leader of the masked men, “he’ll get away from
us. He must not.”
“He’s good’s done it, ’cording to my figuring,” replied a panting
companion. “Great Scott! how he winged it down the----”
“Fool! if you and Jed hadn’t been sich blunderers, he’d been our game
now.”
“Don’t be too sure on thet, old man. He’s a whirlwind, he is, and no
man would a stopped him once he got started.”
Little Hickory kept on home without seeing or hearing anything more of
his enemies, and what became of them was likely to remain unknown.
He did not think it wise to speak of his adventure at home, as he knew
it would only make those at the old house uneasy and afraid to remain
there while he and Larry were away. So he greeted his mother with
his usual light-heartedness, though it was many days before he fully
recovered from the thrilling experience of coasting “Flying Jump.”
On the morning of the Fourth of July, it being a holiday, he resolved
to take his first “day off” since coming to Break o’ Day, and though he
had no new suit to wear, as was the case with Larry, he brushed up his
old clothes, put on a new pair of pants, which he had been obliged to
buy, and started on foot.
It had been his wish that Joe should go with him, but she declared that
she could not think of that, as she had positively “nothing fit to
wear.” Besides, she was needed at home.
Thus we find Rob at Gainsboro, and no one was more surprised than he at
the declaration of Job Westcott to his friend Larry.
At this juncture one of the committee came hurriedly to the spot,
saying:
“Are you the young man who is to take the place of Mr. Snyder, who was
to speak here to-day? If so, come right along, for the people are tired
of waiting. It’s strange Snyder could not have notified us of this
arrangement before.”
Larry was thus suddenly placed in a position he could not understand,
and with the efforts of Job, he was taken to the speaker’s stand before
he had fully recovered from his surprise. Then he looked around to find
himself staring into the upturned faces of the crowd of amazed people.
“Reel it off, Larry, jess as you did to me down in the hayfield t’other
day, and you’ll s’prise ’em all--especially Lucy!” whispered Job, as he
turned to go away. A moment later a few heard him say in a low tone to
himself:
“If this don’t make me even with Pluck Snyder, I’ll try ag’in!”
The chairman of the occasion by this time had arisen, and not knowing
personally the expected speaker, had begun to introduce the “orator”
in glowing terms as “the gifted son of the rich Orestes Snyder, and
the talented young lawyer of the silver tongue, destined to make his
mark in the world,” and much more in that line, until he ended, and a
breathless silence fell on the scene.
Was ever one in such a situation as Larry at that moment? One of the
committee whispered for him to rise and begin, while others half lifted
him to his feet.
He did not have either the courage or the presence of mind to explain
the mistake that had been made, even if he really understood that one
had been made. He simply did what seemed the only thing for him to do.
He began to repeat his stolen “oration.”
Larry’s voice rang out loud and clear, so that he caught the attention
of his listeners at the very outset. Then, all feeling of fear and
hesitation fled, fairly forgetting himself in his efforts, he went
on with the patriotic address ringing with eloquent expression and
beautiful descriptions.
It was evident that the good people of Gainsboro were being highly
pleased, and Larry Little, the impromptu orator, was soaring high in
one of Pluto Snyder’s most labored periods, when that person’s voice
broke on the hushed scene like a note sadly out of tune:
“Here, you farm lunkhead! that’s my oration. Stop! I say, stop! before
I have you arrested for stealing----”
The rest was lost in the midst of the hubbub his words had created,
while the irate speaker, fairly wild with anger and excitement,
continued to push the crowd aside, while he rushed toward the platform.
It was a scene which made that Fourth of July at Gainsboro memorable.